The Battle for Everything
by midnight pain
Summary: They knew that when he left the fight was far from over...and now that he was home again everything was about to change. The war was only jusy beginning...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

Home

_x_

_for what we've become_

_we just feel more alone_

_always weigh what I've got_

_against what I left_

_so progress report: I am missing you to death_

_x_

It was strange how years could feel like eternity, strange how when someone you love is gone for so long the nights seem ominous and too much colder. It wasn't the least bit strange how the hurt of his sudden leave-taking affected everyone that loved him, how it made the days so much harder to get through (and not one went by when they didn't think of him). All of this ran through her mind as she lay there in bed unable to sleep again, staring out the window and thinking like always. She looked at the young man asleep beside her, thanking everything and anything she could think of that she had him. She reached out and touched his mess of red hair, her fingers trailing down his cheek; some part of her knew a long time ago that this side of their relationship was inevitable – it had been a long time coming and when it happened, it was wonderful. She sat up and leaned over, kissing his forehead softly as he slept. She carefully slid out from under the sheets and moved to the window, wearing one of his white cotton shirts with the buttons down the front (she always stole them from him when he got home from work because she said they smelled like him). She opened the window, feeling the breeze immediately as it blew the sheer curtain and her long, curly hair. It was unseasonably cold out, but then again, it always felt too unpleasantly cold since he went away.

The two of them never expected it, never saw it coming (honestly, no one did). They knew he was distraught and distracted, maybe even a little obsessed, but they never thought he'd go and leave them the way he had. The two of them felt like they had lost more than a best friend; they felt they had lost a brother (they both loved him as such). She cried. He cried. They worried and ached and worried more. They wondered every single day that went by if he was ok, if he was even alive. They heard nothing from him, but never stopped hoping for one minute there might be an owl one day with a piece of parchment with his handwriting scrawled across it. But the hoped-for-owl never came; there was neither parchment, nor handwriting they were longing to see. They didn't know where he was or if he was ever coming back. They just knew that he was gone (and they knew that it hurt, hurt so deeply).

"Hermione?" She turned to see Ron walking towards her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I was just…" she looked out the window again, fighting tears she thought would have stopped coming by now. "I was just thinking," she said softly. He stood beside her now, a hand on her shoulder.

"About Harry?" he asked quietly. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and nodded. He smoothed her hair and put his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. "I know," he said quietly. "I always think about him." She sniffed and lifted her head, wiping her tears and looking out the window again.

"Ron… do you think he'll ever come back?" Her voice was so quiet, so hopeful and fearful and pained. And he was at a loss. There were so many nights he sat up hoping his best friend would come back, trying to figure out where he had gone, why he had gone so abruptly. And he had come to the same conclusion every time: that he didn't really know anything.

"I don't know," he said quietly, staring out at the bright moon. "I don't know, Hermione." He watched another tear roll down her cheek, watched her wipe it away, her lips trembling slightly. "But we can't keep torturing ourselves like this."

"I know that. I know that, Ron, I do, but… He's our best friend. We don't know where he is. We don't know what he's doing. We don't know if he's ok. We don't…" she took a shaky breath and was even quieter, "we don't even know if he's alive."

"I think about those things too, Hermione," Ron said quietly, staring outside. "I think about him every single day. I think about…if he had just told us, let us come with him – wherever he went – that we could have helped him. I think sometimes, that… maybe I could have stopped him."

"I just want him to come home, Ron," she said softly. "I just want him to come home, and be ok…"

"I know; it's all I want too," he said quietly. She stood from the windowsill, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. They worried endlessly, tortuously for the first year; the second year they still worried, but it was a little easier to sleep at night (not that they didn't take turns having horrible nightmares of what might have happened to him); the third year they had yet to stop worrying, but it was a little easier to get through the days, a little easier to fall asleep without waking up an hour later from awful nightmares. Three years had gone by and they had heard nothing (no one had). Three years that felt like three lifetimes.

September had proved unseasonable. It rained almost every day, accompanied by unusual cold, and it stormed every night. Hermione often shivered at the remembrance of Dementors; weather like this always reminded her of them. She and Ron were sitting by the fire; the Ministry had been particularly busy with the investigation of increased Death Eater activity and now they were simply trying not to think too much of what it could mean, and just trying to enjoy each others company. It was quiet; it felt almost too quiet. The darkness of the night seemed endless, and it felt as if the cold were creeping into every corner. She snuggled closer to him, wanting nothing more than to be warm, to be close to him and tell him she loved him (and hear him say that he loved her and he always would), and chase away the feeling of iciness that seemed to have seeped into her bones. The rain outside was pelting the windows, the lightening fierce, the thunder roaring so loudly so often the panes of glass shook. He kissed her softly and rested his chin on the top of her head, thinking (always thinking they never seemed to be able to stop). She jumped at the sound of the deafening thunder, sounding as if it had cracked the very foundation of their house; she didn't realize at first it wasn't the sound of the thunder that scared her. Feeling the wind suddenly whipping through the room and the bitter coldness from outside, they looked to the doorway.

"Oh my goodness…" she whispered, feeling the color drain from her face. They were up in an instant, rushing to him. He was soaking wet, dripping, his skin cold and pale; he looked sick.

"Harry…" Ron said in shock. He and Hermione ushered him into the living room, bypassing the sofa and getting him as close to the fire as they could. He had been gone for three years – three entire years, left without a word, and he was there now – he just showed up. And it was ok. They didn't care about anything else; the only thing that mattered was that he was alive. Hermione threw a blanket around his shivering form. She and Ron didn't ask questions (not that they didn't care or didn't want to know); Harry would tell them when he was ready (whatever it was he needed to tell them). His eyes were a duller green than they remembered and they seemed blank. Hermione and Ron looked at one another, Ron sitting next to Harry trying to warm him up (thankful to see him alive). Hermione knelt down in front of Harry, taking his cold, wet face in her hands, lifting his head just a little to look at her.

"Harry," she said softly. "Are you alright?" He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He shook his head, his eyes vague and suddenly coated with a sheen of tears. She hurt for him. This Harry with them now was not the Harry that left them; something had happened and this Harry was broken. She could see it in his eyes, feel it through his skin, and it was breaking her heart. The pain radiated from him, and one look at Ron told her he knew it, too. "Harry?"

The vacant look in his eyes was replaced by one of great pain and he whispered, "None of it made any difference…" Ron looked at Hermione, not quite understanding what Harry was talking about, or what he meant. They didn't even know what he had been doing all this time. He muttered the same thing a second time, staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace, shivering slightly.

"Ron, get some tea," she said, her hands on Harry's knees. He looked between her and Harry for a moment, unsure for a moment if he should leave her with him. What if something had happened to him, and he wasn't himself? What if he hurt her?

"Should I leave him alone with you?" he asked out loud, regretting it immediately from the reproving look she shot him. "I mean, he could be like Neville's parents. What if someone used the Cruciatus curse until he went mental?"

"Ronald Weasley," she hissed. "How could you even think something like that let alone say it? Tea. Now." With one last look at Harry, he turned and made for the kitchen. Meanwhile, she stayed kneeling at Harry's feet, looking up at him with worrisome eyes. It was obvious something was wrong but it didn't seem he was going to tell them, and she wasn't sure if she should pry since it could be, and probably was something traumatic. She looked for signs of both a physical and magical struggle. His clothes were ripped, frayed, drenched and dirty. His hair was a mess and matted to his head from the rain. His glasses were cracked, and he had some scrapes above his left eye and a cut across his cheek. The only obvious conclusion she came to was that he was fighting someone, but she was at a loss for who and why. She shifted in front of him, touching his cold cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. This wasn't the return she had been expecting. She knew enough that this was something she and Ron shouldn't handle on their own; they needed to contact the people who needed to know, and who could help Harry out of this…whatever it was.

The floorboards creaked as Ron reappeared with a steaming cup of tea. He was foolishly relieved that Hermione was alright, scolding himself for even thinking that Harry ever would or could hurt her. He handed her the mug without a word and sat down next to Harry, who hadn't moved since he left.

"Wait," she said, before he got comfortable. "They have to know he's alive."

"Hermione, if anyone gets a hold of the news he's alive, or _here,_ they are going to go crazy. The entire wizarding world is going to be on our doorstep!"

"Ron, you don't need to inform the entire wizarding community. But we need to get someone here to help him. I think you can see that he's not right." With her words he looked at his best friend again, knowing that she was right and that if they tried to do anything to help him there was a chance of only making it worse. He nodded. "Send an owl to Lupin, tell Pigwidgeon to get it there as fast as he can, and mark it urgent. Don't mention Harry's name; there are still threats out there."

"What about Tonks? She's an auror, so shouldn't we owl her, too?" he asked.

"Chances are wherever Professor Lupin is Tonks is there, too. Then send an owl to Professor McGonagall."

"And what about you?" he asked. "Are you going to sit with him?"

"Yes. Someone needs to watch him. There could be any number of things wrong with him, and I don't want him to do anything to hurt himself."

"What if he tries to hurt you?"

"He won't," she said surely. "I know he won't. And you know it, too."

"You'll yell if you need me?" He looked down at her and she nodded. He bent down kissing her quickly, and ran upstairs. This wasn't at all what he had hoped for. He had hoped that Harry would have come home perfectly fine, gotten berated by him and Hermione and just about everyone else for leaving without telling anyone where he was going, and then settling comfortably into the life they had known previously. This was not going as he had imagined.

Ron flung open the door to the bedroom, greeted by Pigwidgeon's angry chirps. He went immediately to Hermione's desk in the corner and pulled out some parchment. He grabbed the quill sitting in the inkwell and began writing furiously. Pigwidgeon perched on his shoulder, nipping at his ear.

"This isn't the time to be a prat, Pig," Ron said agitatedly. "Harry's home and he's in trouble." The little grey owl stopped nipping, stopped chirping, sitting still on Ron's shoulder as he wrote to Lupin, and then McGonagall.

_Professor Lupin,_

_We need you. He's here and he's not right. There's something wrong and we don't_

_know what to do. Tell Tonks we need her here, too. Hurry._

_Ron_

He folded the parchment somewhat haphazardly, sealing it in an envelope and marking _Urgent_ on the front. He tied it to Pigwidgeon's leg and looked square at him as he perched on his arm. "This is important," he said. "Pig, you need to get this to Lupin as fast as you can. Understand?" The little grey owl chirped and Ron tied the other message on. "This one goes to McGonagall." He chirped again, nipping Ron's finger affectionately before taking off in a little flurry of grey feathers. Ron dropped down into the chair at the desk, sighing. He moved his hands over his face as if washing it with invisible water and then ran his hands through his hair. Harry was downstairs and soaking wet; he needed some dry clothes. Ron knew he had enough to spare, even if they were huge on Harry. He stood and made his way to dresser in the corner, opening draws and rummaging through them for something – anything – that was dry and warm for Harry to change into.

Hermione sat on the floor at Harry's feet doing nothing more than watching him. He had yet to acknowledge hers or Ron's presence, and she wasn't entirely sure what to do about the whole situation. What if it wasn't even Harry sitting there? She shook her head, cursing herself and Ron silently for putting the crazy ideas in her head in the first place. She knew it was Harry; she couldn't explain how she knew, but she did. She was still holding the mug of tea, warming her own hands instead of his; he hadn't seemed to notice she was offering it to him, or he was completely ignoring her – neither was improbable. She looked around the room nervously, impatiently, for something, anything to give her some idea on how to just get through to him. She looked for something that might jog his memory if that was the problem, or a book with a spell or a charm to pull him out of this daze, but the rational side of her won out, keeping her from trying to do any such thing. The last thing she wanted to do was cause any more harm that may have already been done.

"Harry," she tried again softly hoping to get some kind of reaction. She sat up on her knees, holding the mug with one hand and using the other to reach out to touch him. For a moment she was hesitant, unsure of how he would react. She put her hand on his but he didn't look at her, rather continued to stare past her at the fireplace. "Harry." She reached up and gently touched his face, but nothing. She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, wishing there was something she could say or do to make this better, to wake him up from this trance. "Oh Harry," she said softly. She sat there on her knees, feeling tears sting her eyes as she gently caressed his face. All this time they had wanted him home and he was here, but he wasn't the way she had expected and it hurt. She caressed his cheek and for a moment she watched his eyelids droop, almost as if he were relishing in her touch, comforted from the contact. It was short-lived. He leapt up, knocking her backward and knocking the tea cup from her hands. It crashed to the floor and shattered, bringing Ron bounding down the stairs.

"Hermione!" Ron rushed passed Harry, nearly knocking him down to get to Hermione. She was lying on the floor staring wide-eyed at Harry. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know," she stammered. They both looked at him and realized he was clutching his forehead and the expression on his face had become one of excessive physical pain.

"Bloody hell," Ron said quietly. "What's the matter with him?"

"His scar," she said knowingly. They watched him drop to his knees on the floor, hands pressed firmly to his forehead. Ron helped her up and they both rushed over to Harry who fell back onto the floor, his face and forehead breaking out with beads of sweat. She moved to go to him and Ron grabbed her arm, pulling her back

"Don't."

"Ron! Harry needs our help!" She shouted at him, wrenching her arm away from him and running over to Harry. He had suddenly become very still, his breathing rapid and his pulse quick. His skin was cold and clammy but sweat dripped from his forehead. She looked up at Ron, who was looking down in confusion and dismay. Harry's eyes were closed but his face was still slightly contorted. "I think he passed out," she said quietly.

"Well…we can't leave him there," Ron replied. "Let's get him on the couch; Lupin and Tonks can take care of him when they get here." She nodded in response and helped Ron lift Harry up (not that it was very difficult) and place him carefully on the couch. "You don't reckon he's been cursed, do you?"

"No," she said shaking her head. "This isn't the after effects of a curse. This is something else entirely, but I'm not sure what."

"So what do we do?"

"You stay down here with Harry until Professor Lupin and Tonks get here. I'm going upstairs to check some of my books; though, I'm positive this isn't a curse, it doesn't hurt to be a little extra cautious." She kissed Ron quickly and headed for the stairs. She was fairly certain she knew what had just happened, but quite unsure of why. She knew, as well as other members of the Order that Voldemort and Harry were connected and it was quite often through his scar Harry felt his presence. She knew that when Voldemort was close Harry felt a burning sensation in his scar; she also knew that when something was happening concerning Voldemort and his followers that Harry felt that, too. When Harry felt extreme joy, Voldemort felt it and for him it would be pure torture, and to retaliate was only too easy with his connection to Harry through that same scar. She wondered why now, would Voldemort see a reason to attack Harry? Did he know that Harry was with them, and was he trying somehow to locate him? She wasn't sure. At that moment, she couldn't be sure of anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One:

Healing Charms and Phoenixes

Hermione spent the better part of a half an hour in her room going through books. She looked up what she could on curses, and even the Imperious Curse didn't fit this particular display. She was, as she had suspected, right that Harry was not under a curse, or spell. This was something else entirely, and she was pretty sure it had to do with whatever traumatic events had happened in the three years he had been gone. There was a part of her that wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, yell at him for taking off the way he did and making them worry the way they had – but that was going to have to wait. She'd yell at him when he was better. She piled her books neatly on the desk and sighed. She pulled her messy hair back into a ponytail and set to the task of cleaning Harry up, and waiting for Lupin and Tonks and Professor McGonagall to get there. She noticed the clothes on the floor by the dresser, and assumed that Ron had also come up here to get clothes for Harry to change into, not expecting him to go into whatever sort of fit had happened downstairs. Maybe it was being in this place again… She grabbed the clothes and hung them over her arm, the floorboards creaking as she left the room.

She filled an old, but clean basin with warm water and grabbed a cloth from the bathroom. Before the others got there she wanted to at least tend to the visible signs of struggle; she didn't want to worry them more than they needed to be, and she felt a strong need to take care of him. She knew Ron would want to help, and he would do what he could, but she knew that the majority of it would be left up to her as she was the one who, aside from a magical life, education, and career, was studying muggle medicine. Her parents were dentists, after all. When she returned to the living room the fire was still going strong and Ron was sitting in the armchair watching Harry, who hadn't moved since she and Ron put him on the sofa. Ron heard the telltale floorboards and looked to Hermione, carrying a basin with water, a cloth, and clean clothes he'd thrown on the floor when he heard the shattering tea mug. She noticed he'd cleaned up the mess.

"Any word from Lupin?" she asked as Ron stood and came to her, taking the basin of water from her and carrying it over to the sofa. He nodded.

"He sent an owl back. He'll be here with Tonks within the hour." he said as she handed him the clothes he was holding. "What did you bring these down for? He can't change himself while he's unconscious."

"No," she said, kneeling beside the sofa and brushing his black hair off his forehead. She mused that he needed a haircut. "But, we're his best friends, so I doubt he would mind."

"What? You mean _we're_ going to change his clothes _for_ him?" he looked a little uncomfortable, and she nodded. "Hermione, best friends share a lot of things, but really, I have to draw the line at taking Harry's clothes off."

"Ronald," she scolded. "It's not like I'm suggesting we bathe him."

"Thank god," he mumbled.

"We're not going to strip him naked," she said, dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out. "We're just going to get him into dry clothes. I'll do it if you don't feel comfortable."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you taking Harry's clothes off either," he replied.

"Oh honestly, Ronald," she tutted and shook her head.

"Well, I'm not."

"Come off it," she said. She took the cloth and gently dabbed at the scrapes above his left eye, removing dirt and blood. She dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out again, this time dabbing at the cut across his cheek. She wished he would wake up and tell them what had happened to him.

"He looks like he's been through hell," Ron said, sitting in the armchair again and watching her.

"He does, but we don't really know what happened. Although, I have my suspicions." she said and looked up at him.

"What suspicions?" he asked her, creasing his brow. He didn't have any suspicions and he wanted to know what ones she had. She just looked at him before going back to tending to Harry. "Honestly, Hermione, what suspicions?"

"Death Eaters," she said. She looked up at him and his mouth had snapped shut, and his eyes were slightly wider. "Think about it Ron, who else would do this? I mean, I know Harry has made enemies, but no one else would do this. This has Voldemort written all over it."

"I hate it when you say that name," Ron said quietly, shivering a little. He still couldn't say his name without stuttering, and oftentimes avoided saying it altogether. He watched her tending carefully to Harry, who still didn't wake, and he knew that she was right. They knew that when he left the fight was far from over, but without him there, there didn't seem to be anything to fight, which had given Hermione the sneaking suspicion that Harry had left because of a stupid sense of heroism; she was almost positive he knew that once he was gone the threat to them would be gone as well, as it would chase after him. The things he did made her so angry some times. She set the cloth in the basin full of water and set it aside.

"Give me those clothes," she said to Ron, who leaned over and gave them to her without question. He stayed in the armchair. He loved Harry like a brother, yes, but he wasn't going to undress, or dress him for that matter. He figured it was better to just let Hermione handle this part; she was the one studying to be a muggle doctor aside from a witch.

She took of his glasses and handed them to Ron, moving to his side again. She carefully pulled his arms out of his jacket and set it aside; next, she pulled his arms from his tee-shirt, carefully pulling it up and over his head. She gasped out loud and Ron looked down at his feet. There were several wounds over the front of him. His chest was littered with bruises and cuts that looked less than taken care of, his ribs a little too visible for her comfort. There were what looked like unhealed burns, and altogether he looked disconcerting. She pressed her lips together, feeling her chest tighten with apprehension as she picked up the cloth from the basin and wrung it out once more. She began to dab lightly at the wounds on his chest, his rib cage, his stomach. She wet the cloth again, wringing out more dirt and more blood. The more she tried to help him the worse she felt about the entire situation.

"I really hope they get here soon," Ron said quietly. "He needs some serious healing."

"If they can even heal all of this," she said quietly. "I'm keeping his shirt off until Tonks has looked at him. I'd rather she see him straight away and heal him as soon as possible, if possible." Ron was determinedly looking at his feet as he nodded. He didn't want to see Harry looking like that. She made quick work into getting him into a pair of Ron's pajama pants without so much as blushing; if she were going to be a doctor she had to learn not to be embarrassed about these sorts of things, but strangely she wasn't embarrassed anyway. She touched his face gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead and finding that his forehead was burning, and finding that she was unsure if it was a fever or just the scar – Voldemort doing what he could to torture Harry. She practically leapt up when she heard the popping sound coming from across the room. She wasn't sure she had ever been so happy to see Professor Lupin and Tonks; Professor Lupin looking as he always did, and Tonks with her shockingly pink hair. True to form she ran to Professor Lupin and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"It's good to see you, Hermione," he said softly, hugging her in return and patting her back.

"Oh Professor, there has to be something you can do," she said pulling away, and determined not to let him see the tears in her eyes she looked at Harry.

"I don't know how much _I_ can do, but I assure you that there is at least _something_ Nymphadora can do." With that she looked at Tonks who looked less than pleased to have been called by her first name From the first time they met her she'd made it known she didn't want to be called by her first name, and so far the only person she had seen or heard get away with it was Professor Lupin. "Where is he?"

"The sofa," Hermione replied pointing and heading towards it, Ron standing as his former professor and Tonks approached him.

"When did he get here?" Professor Lupin asked stopping in front of Ron. "Hello Ron," he said, outstretching his hand. Ron shook it thankfully, and nodded to Tonks. Professor Lupin looked at Harry. "My goodness…"

"He got here almost an hour ago. I told you it was urgent," Ron said. "He had a fit or something a while ago and he hasn't woken up since." They watched as Tonks passed Professor Lupin and went to Harry; she bent down to inspect him and her mouth hung open slightly in shock.

"I'm sure we can all guess who did this." Tonks said, looking at them all for a moment and then back at Harry. "I'm assuming no one followed him," she said, and then added quietly, "not that they could find this place."

"No, I don't think so," Hermione said. "Why?"

"There has been an increase in Death Eater activity of late," Professor Lupin said. "We just don't want our next report to happen on your doorstep."

"Neither do we," Ron said. "How can we be sure?"

"Ron, think about it." Hermione said, "This place is protected. Death Eaters couldn't find it if they wanted to. When Harry inherited this place it was under a Fidelis Charm, and as far as I know, it still is."

"Oh," was all he said, and by the look on Professor Lupin's face he too remembered this key factor, and looked a little more at ease. Ron looked at Tonks, touching one of the darkest bruises in the center of Harry's chest. "Can you help him?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "I can't heal him completely, but I can heal him enough." She touched the dark spot. "This looks like a…a scorch mark, or something of that nature. He was hit here," she said as she gently touched the mark with her fingertips, "with a curse, and a powerful one at that." She pulled out her wand. "_Episkey_," she said quietly, pointing her wand at his chest. The rather large, dark spot diminished but did not disappear. She did the same over various bruises, cuts and abrasions – some disappeared altogether, and others merely were lessened in their intensity. This hadn't been what Hermione or Ron had been hoping for, and judging by the expressions on Professor Lupin's face, as well as the one Tonks wore, they had been hoping for more than this as well.

"Perhaps he needs a stronger healing charm," Professor Lupin said, coming to stand beside her. She looked up at him for a moment before nodding, and then muttered another healing charm. Some wounds lessened, and others did something peculiar: they seemed to heal for the moment, only to reopen moments later.

"Why aren't all the injuries gone? Why isn't he healing?" Ron asked.

"Some of these injuries are extensive, and they've been here for some time," Tonks answered. "Whoever cast the curses on him to cause these wounds knew what they were doing, and they knew they were powerful enough to cause real damage. Which is why, I imagine, they cast them on him in the first place," she said. "I'm not sure how some of these wounds didn't kill him, and I'm not going to question it right now." In truth, none of them wanted to question it. None of them wanted to think of the fact he _should_ be dead but thankfully wasn't. It seemed that the only thing that mattered was that he was there at all, even if he was unconscious on the sofa – he was there, breathing, and alive. After three years of wondering if he even _was_ alive, it was a relief just to see him there. At least now they knew he was safe, or at least as safe as he could be. "Did he say _anything_?"

"The only thing he said was…" Hermione hesitated.

"Yes, Hermione?" Professor Lupin said, eager to know if it was anything of use to them in figuring out where this boy had gone, been, and done.

"He said… 'None of it made any difference'." She said sadly, confusedly. "I don't know what he meant." Professor Lupin simply gazed down at him, remembering when Harry had said those words to him more than three years ago, after Sirius was freed but not a free man. Harry had felt then that he had failed, and what he had done made no difference, when in fact it had and he just couldn't see it. This, as it would seem, was a similar circumstance. Professor Lupin had no doubt in his mind that Harry had been out there, somewhere, fighting everything that threatened to take away the things and people that he loved; there was no doubt in his mind that Harry had been out there alone, fighting with everything he had to keep the last few things and people he loved so deeply safe and out of harms way. He only wished he had known Harry would try to do such a thing, because he would have done anything in his own power to stop him from doing something so foolish.

"Should we wake him now, Nymphadora?" Professor Lupin asked. "He might be able to tell us something about where he was all this time; at the very least he can tell us who did this to him." But they were interrupted by something, and Tonks looked away from Harry in search of the source; it sounded almost like a song - a sound, a song that they hadn't heard in years. All of them seemed mesmerized by it for a moment, and as it grew closer it seemed almost calming to them, if not somewhat saddened as well. The melodic sound was something they had heard before, though in an entirely different context and circumstance, and it was no less beautiful than it was then.

"Ron, open the window," Hermione commanded, feeling strongly that she knew what, or rather who it was, and he did so without question. The song grew louder, closer, and within minutes its source became apparent. With great ease and inherent grace the bird glided through the open window, the mere sight of it a personification of beauty and splendor.

"Is that…" Ron started, staring in awe as it perched on Harry's stomach.

"A phoenix," Hermione finished. "Fawkes, to be precise."

"That's _Dumbledore's_ phoenix?" Ron asked in astonishment. "No one has seen or heard from him since… since the funeral at Hogwarts."

"Yes," Lupin said quietly. "It seems that Fawkes had one other person besides Dumbledore that he was, and apparently still is quite loyal to." They all watched in amazement as Fawkes gave a few more notes to his beautiful song before leaning over the wound at the center of Harry's chest. They watched as a few precious, powerful tears touched the surface of his skin; they all seemed to hold their breath and watched as it was returned to a state of health. In one swift movement Fawkes moved to perch on the back of the sofa, looking down on Harry. Professor Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances and nodded to one another as Ron and Hermione watched them in anticipation. If Tonks succeeded in bringing Harry back to consciousness he might be able to tell them where he last was with the Death Eaters, if that were indeed the case; if she succeeded in waking him, he might be able to tell them anything he might have learned about Voldemort's plans to give them the upper hand. Really, the most important thing on all of their minds was just hearing from him that he was ok. If that was all he could say, the only thing he knew, that would be more than enough. It seemed they all collectively held their breath, hearts beating a little more quickly than they had been moments ago. Hermione found herself thinking _just wake up, Harry; just please wake up_; Ron found himself thinking _please, just be ok. _Professor Lupin looked at Tonks, and she at him.

"I think, perhaps, we might try now," he said softly, with a grateful glance at Fawkes.

"_Ennervate_," Tonks said quietly. They all watched anxiously, including the phoenix, waiting for Harry to move, to open his eyes, say something, anything; but it was a few moments before Harry showed signs of waking. First his brow creased, and then he took a deep, shaky breath. He didn't open his eyes right away, and for a moment they worried he wouldn't.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was soft and tentative, unsure what kind of reaction she would receive if any. He swallowed a little harshly, and took another shaky breath.

"He knows I've come back."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two:

The Path of Thorns

Ron and Hermione were more surprised than Lupin or Tonks, having seen the state he was in before, having seen that he didn't seem to acknowledge or recognize them. Now he seemed to have clear thought and perfect ability to speak. Ron moved over to him as he sat up carefully, slowly, and handed Harry's glasses back to him. He slipped them onto his face, ignoring the cracks in the lenses – he could fix them later. He looked at all of them and ran a hand through his hair. He knew what they wanted, knew that they wanted to know everything, and that Ron and Hermione would want it all in the very deepest of detail. He just couldn't do that right now. Sitting up he looked down at himself, realizing he had no shirt on and looked questioningly at his friends.

"You needed healing," Hermione said, handing him the shirt of Ron's she had brought down for him.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said as he pulled the shirt on.

"What happened?" Tonks asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch.

"I told you, he knows I'm here. Voldemort knows that I'm here, and he wasn't very happy about it," Harry answered.

"Harry, that's impossible. This place is protected by a powerful charm-"

"I know," he interrupted, effectively cutting Hermione off. "I know that. I didn't mean he knows I'm _here_; he knows that I'm back with you lot." He looked around the living room and then at Ron. "Mind if I ask for a drink?"

"Not at all," Ron said, starting to head for the kitchen. He stopped halfway there and turned around. "Harry?" Harry looked at him. "It's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Ron."

"And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you." With that he went into the kitchen to get glasses and something to drink – something strong, because he had a feeling they were going to need it. Professor Lupin moved from where he was standing near the sofa to stand in front of Harry, and he stood there just looking down at Harry.

"Don't look at me like that," Harry said quietly.

"Harry…" he said quietly. He wanted to say more, because there was so much more that needed to be said, yet he found there were no words coming out of his mouth, and said the only thing he could: "You have no idea what a relief it is, how _good_ it is to see you alive." He didn't know what to say to that and simply looked up at Professor Lupin, all the things they needed to say remaining silent in their eyes. It would have to do for now. Thankfully the awkwardness was interrupted by Ron returning with an arm full of glasses and a bottle filled with amber liquid.

"Fire whiskey?" Hermione questioned and Ron shrugged.

"It's fine," Harry said, accepting the glass Ron handed him. No one said anything while Ron handed them glasses and poured for each of them. "We're missing someone," Harry finally said.

"What are you talking about?" Professor Lupin asked.

"I know that you surely notified Professor McGonagall," Harry said.

"You're right, we did," Ron said. "But she's Headmistress at Hogwarts, and it's not so easy for her to get here." They all nodded, accepting this was in fact the case, and dropping it promptly.

"Harry…" Hermione started hesitantly, and he found himself suddenly holding his breath. "What happened?" There it was. The single question he didn't really want to answer, because he really just didn't want to think about it right that moment. Yet, somehow he knew that Hermione would be the one to ask. Sometimes, he really wished she'd stop caring so much.

"A lot, actually," he said, and proceeded to be the first to drink of the fire whiskey, and the first to finish his entire glass. They all looked at him but said nothing. He got up and took the bottle from where Ron had put it on the mantle above the fireplace. He poured himself another glass. "It all depends on how much you want to know, and where you want me to start."

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Harry," Professor Lupin said. Harry downed his second glass of fire whiskey, grimacing as it burned the entire way down. He poured another glass, speaking as he did so.

"There isn't enough time in the world to start from the beginning," Harry said. He was quiet for a few moments as everyone but him exchanged glances. Professor Lupin sat down next to Tonks, and Hermione and Ron sat down on the love seat adjacent from the sofa. Harry finally looked up at them. With the bottle of fire whiskey in his hand, he made his way to the armchair and sat down. "When I left, I didn't do it to intentionally hurt any of you," he said. "I did the only thing I could to protect you all, and maybe it wasn't exactly the best way to do things, but at the time I thought it was the only way. So I left."

"We could have helped you," Hermione said quietly.

"You see, that's the thing," he said, pouring more whiskey into his glass, but only sipping it this time. "You couldn't have. Well, it's not that you weren't capable, it was more or less the fact that I needed to do this alone. I had to face down my demons without endangering everyone else in the process."

"So you ran away?" Ron said a little angrily. Harry took a deep breath and gulped more of his whiskey. "What good did that do any of us, Harry? Do you have any idea how worried we all were? I mean, we didn't even know if you were alive!"

"I know," he said quietly. "And for that, I'm sorry."

"Harry, you still haven't told us what happened," Tonks said, looking pointedly at him. Her pink hair seemed the same as always, and he realized that it must have been her who healed him; he hadn't even realized that Fawkes had found his way upstairs to the bedroom Harry would inevitably make his. Harry sighed, followed by another gulp of whiskey.

"Funny how it stops burning the entire way down after a while," he mused, looking at the liquid in his glass. He didn't really want to have to remember it all at that moment; he didn't want to relive it all just yet. And at the same time, he couldn't figure a way out of telling them everything, knowing that telling them he didn't want to talk about it would never float.

"Don't change the subject," Ron said. Harry was a little surprised; he knew that Ron could be quick to anger, but he didn't remember him being this assertive before. Harry guessed that spending all the time he was sure Ron had with Hermione while he was away caused some changes. Harry looked up at him.

"Fine." He finished his glass off. "When I left, Voldemort sent all of his little minions chasing after me, just like I knew he would. I didn't really care, though; I just wanted to get him, even if I got myself killed in the process." He saw Hermione tense at this, but continued. "Before you even ask, no, I didn't kill him. And yes, I fought with Death Eaters – day in and day out."

"That's not really telling us much, Harry," Tonks said, a little more softly. "We can't go off and find them if you don't tell us who, exactly, you were fighting." He looked away and sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"After a while you don't remember their names; their faces all start to look the same – because that kind of evil shares one face, and you're not meant to remember its individuals." There was silence in the room following that, and he couldn't look at them. "That's all I remember," he finally added. For some reason, Hermione didn't believe him entirely; she believed that he might have a hard time recollecting exact names and faces, but that he didn't remember _anything_? That she didn't believe, and she knew him well enough to know when he was lying, for whatever reasons he may have.

"What?" Ron could hardly believe those words had left his mouth. "Harry, you're gone for three years - _three years_ – and you don't remember what happened?"

"Ron, don't," Hermione said softly. He looked at her as if she had sprouted horns; he couldn't understand why she wasn't upset by this.

"Look, I'm sorry if that isn't what you wanted to hear but… I…" he shook his head again. "I just don't remember. I'm sorry."

"Perhaps we should call it a night, hmm?" Professor Lupin interjected, looking at Harry. Without a word he could see the gratitude in Harry's eyes. "We'll come and check on you tomorrow." He stood, Tonks following. "Do let the rest of the Weasley family know tomorrow that you're back, and that you're safe."

"He will," Ron said for him. "Because there is no way he's getting out of the yelling my Mum is going to give him." Lupin smiled, even if it was just a little.

"Alright then, Nymphadora and I will be by tomorrow. Try and sleep well, Harry." With that, they apparated, and were gone. They three of them sat in silence for a moment, and Ron and Hermione watched as Harry poured himself another glass of fire whiskey, and downed it fairly quickly.

"I think you've had enough, Harry," Hermione said as she stood and made her way over to him, taking the bottle from his hand. "I don't want you drunk on your first night back."

"Too late," he replied, looking up at her through dark lashes and heavy lidded eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and looked away. He couldn't bear looking at her, looking her in the face when he knew that the hurt he saw in her eyes was there because of him. She reached down, sliding her fingers under his chin and tilting his head up to look at her.

"I know," she said softly.

"Harry, none of the other stuff really matters," Ron said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We're just glad that you're home, and that you're ok."

"Thanks, Ron." There was silence for a few moments in which Ron slipped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulled her closer. They looked at one another waiting for someone to say something, or for Harry to move.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Hermione finally said, looking down at him. He remained sitting, staring down at his lap. Now that Lupin and Tonks were gone, he seemed to have resumed acting a bit like he had before they were there. Ron and Hermione didn't understand. "Harry?"

"I lied to you."

"What?" Ron didn't quite understand what Harry was talking about. "You lied to… about what?"

"I know," Hermione said softly, earning her a confused look from Ron and a sad glance from Harry.

"I remember everything."

"I know," she said again.

"But you just said that…" Ron was nowhere near stupid, but he was confused by this. He didn't understand how or why Harry could lie about the people – if they could be called such – that put him through hell. Ron just didn't understand why Harry wouldn't jump at the chance to give names.

"I know what I said, Ron," Harry said, somewhat impatiently. "I lied, alright?" He looked up at them both and sighed. "Look… I don't know all of their names; some of them I've never even seen before. But, I do know a few faces, and it's no one's fight but mine. I don't want you," Harry said pointedly as Hermione opened her mouth, "or anyone else chasing after those monsters."

"Can you at least talk to us, Harry?" Hermione asked softly. "I know you don't want to have to replay any of what happened to you, but… you can trust us. Please?"

There was so much to say. He didn't know where to begin, or how to even start at the beginning. He didn't know how much he should tell them or if he should just tell them everything – all of it with no modifications. He knew he would, at some point, but not tonight. Tonight he was tired, and weak, and he didn't have the strength to tell them everything. "This war is far from over," he said with absolute finality that made Ron shiver. Harry gestured for his two friends to sit on the sofa; what he had to say he didn't recommend hearing while standing. "You know the stories. You know how powerful Voldemort was when he killed my parents." They nodded. "He's just that strong now, if not stronger, and he's not going to just give up. He's going to do everything and anything he can to have the wizarding world in the palm of his hand – he'll kill anyone who gets in his way, and that doesn't just mean me."

"And his Death Eaters? Is that why Lupin said there was more activity among them?" Hermione asked and Harry nodded.

"There are more than there ever were, some younger than we are. Bellatrix LeStrange I remember clearly and she tried to kill me more than once, and I don't just mean in the past. Three nights ago she and I had a go; I'm not sure which one of us left with more damage. But she's the least of my worries," Harry said, suddenly wishing he still had the bottle of fire whiskey in his hand.

"You mean Voldemort?" Hermione said and Ron shuddered.

"Yes and no." He was quiet for a moment and ran his hands through his hair, realizing that his head was spinning more than just a little. "Lucius Malfoy is out of Azkaban."

"What?" Ron and Hermione spoke simultaneously, and then Ron continued. "How is that even possible? Harry, if Lucius Malfoy broke out of Azkaban the entire wizarding world would know. It would be the front page of the Daily Prophet! You're mental!"

"I wish my being mental was the case, but it's not. Lucius Malfoy is not in Azkaban – I know, because he tried to kill me last night. He's got one of his useless cronies impersonating him in Azkaban. And before you tell me I'm wrong, if Hermione could brew Polyjuice Potion in our second year at Hogwarts, then I'm sure Lucius Malfoy knows how to do it."

"This is insane," Ron said before Hermione had a chance to speak. "Next you're going to tell us you've had a nice little chat with Snape." At Harry's lack of response Ron snapped his head in his direction. "Don't even…"

"Snape is out there, too. I've seen him, but only briefly. He's smarter than we used to give him credit for. I have no doubt that he helped Malfoy with his little trick to get out of Azkaban – and it's not like the Ministry can depend on _Dementors_," he said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, "because Voldemort has them in his pocket, too."

"Harry, how long ago did you see Snape?" Hermione asked.

"It depends on which time you're asking about. The night Lucius Malfoy tried to off me for…" he shook his head "I've lost count, but Snape was there. I saw him. I don't know exactly what he was doing-"

"Oh I'm sure he was there for a cup of tea and to ask you how you were doing," Ron interrupted. "He was there to _kill_ you, Harry."

"Maybe," Harry replied.

"Have you seen or heard anything about Draco Malfoy?" Hermione cut in before Ron could say anything more. This seemed to pique Ron's interest more than Snape.

"Have you killed him yet?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised almost in excitement. Hermione elbowed him, and he rubbed his arm where she'd hit and glowered at her.

"No I haven't killed him, Ron," Harry replied. He realized now that he was feeling very sick to his stomach, and reminded himself never to drink that many glasses of fire whiskey in so short a time span ever again. "And strangely, I haven't seen him once, or heard a word about him. This leads me to believe he is very well hidden by his father – or Voldemort – or he's already dead."

"I vote for dead," Ron interjected. Hermione tutted and shook her head.

"Really, Ron, killing everyone that works for Voldemort isn't the answer," she said annoyed.

"It isn't?" He replied, sounding thoroughly surprised.

"I find it odd, really, that not one of the Death Eaters I encountered was him or that none of them even made mention of him," Harry said. "It doesn't add up…" He leaned forward placing his head in his hands in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning wildly. Seeing that he obviously wasn't feeling well Hermione stood, motioning for Ron to do the same. He really hoped he wasn't going to throw-up.

"Harry, you've told us enough for tonight. We'll help you up to your room."

"I think Fawkes is already up there," Ron said. Harry looked up warily.

"Fawkes is here?"

"He healed all the wounds that Tonks couldn't," Hermione said softly. "I doubt that he'll be disappearing again any time soon; I think he's yours now Harry." She extended her hand and helped pull him out of the armchair, and before he had a chance to move she wrapped her arms around him tightly. For a moment he didn't move out of shock, but it wore off quickly and he easily and comfortably wrapped his arms around her in return, hugging her just as tightly. "I missed you so much," she whispered, holding back tears.

"I've missed you more than I can say," he whispered in return. They remained in their embrace for a few more moments before slowly pulling apart. Harry's cheeks were now a delicate shade of pink, not from hugging Hermione, but as a result of his slightly drunken state.

"Come on, mate," Ron said, urging him forward. "I'd like to get you up the stairs before you puke all over the place."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded and shook her head. "We'll walk you to your room, Harry."

"That sounds like a good idea, because I don't think I can walk up the stairs on my own." Ron smiled a little and shook his head, Harry walking between him and Hermione. It felt good, better than good to have Harry home again, but he knew that it didn't end there. Harry was home, yes, and he was alive and fairly ok, but he knew that Harry's words had been truer than he was willing to accept at the moment they had been spoken: This war was far from over. It was only just beginning.


End file.
